Cascade of Passion

I had such a wickedly beautiful dream An army of Hot Bread kitchen’s buns; with no cream An Auzzie cuppa of long black gingerly kissing the brim I see him basking on the frosty Fuji summit; he calls himself,Jim An empty pew beside him, he shyly asks, ‘are you my Kim?’ Crudely handsome he is; desirably tan and trim I hear the ballerinas of his heart gently scream The five lakes in the vicinity flute with a beam I coyly grasp the bouncing rays at the two open buttons of his shirt; a romantic scheme The abode of the Rising Sun upsurges my deeply passionate esteem.